by May Sage
In fact, they were just letting off some steam. The last few days had been stressful for them. As discussing the matter troubling their minds hadn’t helped, they’d opted to work some frustration out of their system instead.
They’d started without warning, and they stopped as quickly. One second, they were seemingly attempting to tear each other apart, and the next, they sat calmly, not a hair out of place, their breathing controlled, their stances relaxed.
An instant later, their door opened in front of three outsiders.
There was an older man, walking in front of two field agents; they were easy enough to recognize, with their tall frames, muscular builds, and their air radiating cockiness.
Tria Winters was used to them, and regardless, she wasn’t prone to gawking. She’d seen too much in her lifetime to be surprised or impressed by most of what this world had to offer; yet, she gawked, then. So judge her. One of the two agents – the taller, and leaner one – was that hot.
His dirty blond hair was a little long on top and cropped short on the sides. There was the outline of a tattoo running from his neck and plunging under the tight, dark compression shirt that hugged his defined torso. Lucky shirt. She saw some ink peeking from his sleeves, suggesting that the design was extensive. He wore a combat uniform, and reeked of the unbearably confident attitude most field agents sported. Normally, Tria rolled her eyes; today, she was practically certain there was a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. Not that it mattered. No one saw her mouth under the mask she generally wore at work.
While her attention was mainly focused on the hottie, Tria trailed the two other men from the corner of her eye. Of course she did; her mind never shut down enough to stop assessing threats.
The second agent was also in his combat gear. He stood a little shorter, slightly bulkier than the hottie, with darker wavy hair, and a mischievous expression. To actually be fair in her observation, she had to admit that they both belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. That being said, Tria observed the second newcomer with all her customary indifference.
Andrew led the small party, holding himself like he was of some importance. Hilarious. The fifty-nine-year-old man was the only full-fledged, regular human in the room, and it showed. His imposing frame and intense dark eyes would have commandeered attention in any other company, but here, the only real power he possessed was strapped to his jacket – a badge saying Andrew M. Crawford, Director.
Andrew’s gaze swept the “office” where her team worked. Office was a term used quite loosely in their case. It was rarely used as such. Right now, Daphne hunched over her computer, frantically typing, while Jase played video games. None of them were actually working, and the presence of the man who was technically their boss didn’t phase them at all.
“Tria,” the Director called out, when he saw her perched on her favorite spot: the alcove at the far corner of the room. There was relief in his tone when he found her there and it made her narrow her eyes. It meant he needed her – which was never a good thing.
She jumped down and walked to the Director, doing her very best to avoid looking at the hunk behind him, and only failing three times.
She never liked meeting new people in the Agency. They looked at her with obvious disdain because of her appearance. Most Agents ranged in various degrees of weird, but no one else wore a medical mask to cover the lower part of their face, and a pair of glasses so large and dark they could basically be qualified as a ski mask.
“Tria, meet Grayson Marks and Ralph Daniels, the best field agents we have.” Ralph hid a grin, but Grayson didn’t seem phased by the praise, rolling his eyes. “Gray, this is Tria Winters, head of this research team. She, Daphne and Jason know more about the paranormal world than all of us combined.”
Gray’s brow rose by an inch; he was visibly doubtful about that last statement, with good reason. Daphne was twenty-two, and looked even younger. Jase seemed more engrossed in his video game than any adult ought to be. And she was just a weirdo with the medical mask. Still, he extended his hand. Tria shook Ralph’s first, but then, she moved her hand to return the hottie’s greeting. Instead of shaking it like a civilized, twenty-second century male, he lifted it, and dropped his lips on the back of her palm, smirking against her skin.
Tria didn’t say, or do anything, because the instant their skin touched, her entire body froze.
What the ever fucking hell was that? Her mind raced through thousands of possibilities and settled on incubus. The man had to be an incubus to get that reaction out of her. He was also a prick who knew exactly what he was doing; she could tell from his annoying smirk.
Ralph was rolling his eyes, and muttering something that sounded like, “here we go.”
Glaring behind her glasses, she pulled her hand back, and cleared her throat. Eventually, she remembered how the whole speaking thing was supposed to work.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
May Sage © 2017
Edited by Lisa Bing and Sue Currin
Illustration by Jeremy Chong, typography by Rebecca Frank
